


From Hell

by DeathsHusband



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Holosuite, Holosuite Ripper era AU, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathsHusband/pseuds/DeathsHusband
Summary: A series of murders of Cardassian women in a recently liberated Cardassian colony planet draw attention when they apparently perfectly mimic the Jack the Ripper murders of nineteenth century England.Doctor Julian Bashir volunteers for a detailed series of holosuite explorations (before Starfleet earns permission to investigate on ground) trying to understand who has engineered these vicious crimes - and well, because he can't resist he idea he might be the man to discover the identity of Jack the Ripper!
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	From Hell

Red water drips from the broken pipe at the corner of the house. It's rust, probably. But there's a chilled, old-wallpaper-yellowed fog that licks at the brick and snouts into the gutter and nuzzles its wet lens across every road and thoroughfare. It smells of the stink of the factory and it smells of the rot of the street and it smells of blood from the sausages in the butcher shop, iron heavy and offal thick and the butcher shop is four blocks away, even on a clear night the smell shouldn't be so sharp. So ugly.

She steps forward fast, heel to toe, since she can't see very well. There are no passing vehicles to light up lines of fallen leaves or nuts or the cracks in the pavement. Just the cold air and the thick fog and the stink.

She covers her face. Then she trips. Sodden, thick fabric and nearly disintegrated leaves catch her foot, throw her forward, and there she is, lying across something warm and wet. It isn't coming together in her mind at all, what it could be. Perhaps a dropped bit of dinner left on the sidewalk. Stupid, drunk kids. There's something hard beneath her hip and something soft beneath her elbow, and her hand is in something goopy and thick and warm.

She scrunches up her nose. It's really disgusting. It smells terrible. A dog must have shit nearby, no, no, those damned stupid kids must have dumped out some kind of casserole that was rancid because it smells like blood and... She rolls over, curses, grabbing her knee where pain still jumps and screams from her fall.

A car passes and its hi-beams dance across her, lighting her raised hand in brilliant crimson red. She screams. She rolls over, her knee still aching, and in the lights of the car behind that first revelation, she sees a caved-out midsection, a blood-soaked dress, and a cut throat.

She screams again. She drags herself, screaming, over to the gutter, because she'd rather have dead leaves and rat droppings and muddy snow on her hand than the viscera of a murdered woman, and she scrapes her hand over the edge of the gutter, screaming, until Emergency Services arrive.

"Another Cardassian woman butchered."

There is something in particular about the way that the bridge of Deep Space Nine responds to the presence of Gul Dukat that is not exactly like its reaction to anyone else. There are others who are equally unwelcome walking its struts, demanding attention from its commanding officers, but there is a sort of sharp tilt to Sisko's shoulder blades and an ice that settles over every aspect of Kira from her eyes to her body language to the fingers that nearly curl into fists but do not quite. There's a power in the air, a power Dukat has, and it's uncomfortable but evident. As he stands here in Sisko's realm, where Kira is an officer, he gives neither of them any power except what he asks for in his own aid, his light blue eyes cold and so clear.

When he speaks, he's laying out mistakes to subordinates. There is a layer of disappointment to his voice, and a deep growl demanding they do better, even though the murders of Cardassian women have been on colonies far from Deep Space Nine, outside Bajoran and Starfleet authority.

Sisko seems about to answer but first, Kira places one hand on her hip, tilts her head and snaps, "Maybe your Cardassians would be safe if they moved back out of their colonies."

Dukat's lip drops. He is about to say something.

Sisko is still about to say something.

And then the lift to the Bridge dings and Julian Bashir rushes in like a spray of lavender that is also gleaming with sunlight. "About the murders on Sinderaan 4-" he says, almost before he seems to realize who is there, the political shadows that stretch and convulse around them both. He shivers, but then he draws himself to his full height, eyes clear and ready, lips pressed together before they deliberately grow lax.

"Yes, Doctor Bashir?" Sisko rumbles, his tone dripping with both protocal and irony, but with a hint of amusement behind it.

Bashir's eyes flick over the group, pausing at Dukat, then he seems to steel himself. He swallows, once, though, before he speaks. "I think it's the Ripper."

Noises erupt, answers, but Dukat cuts over them all, cold and strident: "Is this an enemy Starfleet was aware of-"

Dax casts the Cardassian a beleaguered stare and then cuts her eyes to Bashir. "Julian. There are thousands of mass murders, serial killers, on hundreds of planets that fit the same basic description as Sinderaan 4. Ritual murders in Kanto-7, the attacks of Quent Farso during the Genetics Wars..."

"Yes, yes, Dax, but not like this!" Bashir practically vibrates with excitement. "It's not just a similar style of murder or a similar choice of victims. If you pretended the streets of Amtoum on Sinderaan 4 were Whitechapel, London in the 1880s, every other detail is exact. Almost every cut, but certainly the date and time and the way the murders were orchestrated. The only difference is that instead of poor English women, this killer is targeting poor Cardassian women."

Sisko leans forward, palm braced on the console in front of him. "Are you sure? There are no differences? Time, all that?"

"What," Dukat mouths with some distaste, "is this Ripper? The Cardassian government is not pleased to be a laughingstock for-"

"Jack the Ripper," says Bashir, "was a serial murderer on Earth over a thousand years ago. He was not the first mass murderer or killer in our history, but the first who drew the attention of the media, making humanity aware that such dark impulses lurked, potentially, in a human mind. Because of that, he was famous far beyond his murder count or his projected intelligence, as generation after generation teased at the... still unsolved!... mystery of who exactly Jack was."

He smiles faintly. "Dukat. This is not a new serial killer, it is a copycat. A copycat of a very ancient human crime. Therefore it is highly likely that the motive for these murders, the way the victims are chosen, and even the identity of the killer can be discovered by examining the original crime."

"The identity of the killer?" Kira hisses, her long fingers curling into a fist by the side of her thigh. "The murders are in Bajoran space, Doctor! Despite Cardassia's complaints, we don't have permission to investigate the source!"

"You wound up Dukat like a toy duck and we have no useful information to give him," Odo adds.

Bashir lets out a gentle moan and smooths his hands over his face, pressing the palms against his closed eyelids and dragging fingers through his thick hair. "I'm not wrong. The problem is proving it. However we are at no real obligation from Cardassia. We just want to stop hearing about butchered housewives."

"Yeah," Kira mutters, and rubs her arm.

"Then perhaps, while we work to gain a visa to investigate Sinderaan… a holodeck program? Quark could design one based on the thousand years of Ripper speculation. It can obviously tell us nothing about who the killer is, but they clearly know everything about these murders. Down to nearly the slightest cuts- the only ones I noticed different were because he didn't realize he needed to cut a Cardassian throat closer..."

"Julian," Sisko growls.

"Er, no, I mean, it will help us, to understand the mind of the man recreating this crime. Even if he is only doing it because of old story books and is nothing like the Ripper, our knowledge will help us disarm and catch him."

There are a system of sighs around the room. Then the Commander says, "Yes, I'll begin negotiations. Carry on, Doctor."

Garak pauses, then politely slips the bite of omelette on his fork into his mouth. "I don't mean to be indelicate, my dear doctor, but how precisely will finding the computer's... decision of who this "Bloody Jack" was aid us in finding his copycat? Shouldn't, by definition, a copycat have a different personality style?"

"Of course," Bashir says calmly. He draws in a sharp breath through his nostrils, then pushes his empty plate forward on the table. "But because he has replicated these antique crimes so completely, we can determine nothing about him from them. We must explore the things he learned, the things he wanted, the things he destroyed."

Garak blinks. He lets his mind imagine the percolations of thought and perception, of desire and fantasy and story and distress, and emerges from it, mouth full of a second delicious bite, smiling because Julian is absolutely right. It might not be possible to find this killer through Quark's holosuite, but...

"Of course, we will need multiple suites. The basic one, and one with only the information available from the colony itself."

Bashir grinned. "Of course! But first, we will explore the Ripper's London as centuries of research have proved it... ah, that is, if you would like to join me?"


End file.
